The following days were dull. Excused from his duties, Tom was confined to his quarters with nothing to do but eat, sleep, shower, and fiddle with the Redex a good majority of the time but to no avail. Every camera angle of interest in the facility was strictly off-limits for him, and Tom could only hope to memorize the map layout by himself and figure out where his friends were being kept by trial and error.
The only bright side to all of this is that Tom hadn't seen the Commie since the fiasco with the bioweapon, and he wasn't in any hurry to change that. Honestly he hoped Tord would seriously reconsider his idea of making Tom his secretary and just let them go; although Tom highly doubts it.
But everything changed on his 14th day off-work, when Patrick came to deliver him breakfast.
"Uh, Patrick? What are you doing?" Tom asked, chewing on a piece of toast in confusion.
The Polish soldier was fussing with the wardrobe, picking and discarding clothes at random and separating them neatly on top of the bed. "I've been tasked to pack your things. Red Leader is going on a mission overseas, and he requested your presence."
"A mission? What kind of mission?" Tom echoed.
"Red Leader did not share the status of his mission with me, unfortunately." Pat murmured. "You'll just have to ask him that yourself, Tom."
Wonderful. Tom thought, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the situation as he finished the rest of his breakfast in silence. When he was done, Tom brushed his teeth and showered. The entire time he washed his hair he dreaded wearing the uncomfortable Red Army uniform again. However, when he exited the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist he only found a simple gray shirt, jeans, checkered shoes, and his iconic blue hoodie separated for him to wear for the day.
"Red Leader has elected to make an exception for you on this occasion." Patrick spoke up from where he packed a bag for Tom. "No uniform necessary."
Part of Tom found the exception weird, but then again he really didn't want to wear the uniform so he wasn't going to open his mouth and whine about it.
He held out his hands for Patrick to tie up his wrists, but reared back in surprise when the General pulled out another silk rope.
"Apologies, Tom, but Red Leader has specifically requested for you to be blindfolded until we reach our location."
Tom rolled his eyes. "Whatever, fine, do it and get this over with."
The silk thread was wrapped around his head, obscuring his sight. He felt Pat tug on the rope of his wrists and he slowly followed, weary of tripping along the way. Thankfully the General was good with directions and he kept talking to Tom the whole time to make him aware of his surroundings.
"Watch your step," Pat said. "We're outside now. Just follow a straight line."
As he walked, Tom strained his other senses to make out where he was. It was cold out, he could hear footsteps marching in unison somewhere nearby - soldiers in a training drill if he had to guess.
Half-way he gave up trying, having conceded defeat in that department, and let himself be taken away along for the ride.
The rest of the trip was a blur.
He'd been forced to climb into some sort of vehicle and made to sit down, the seats around him filling up as well. The loud engine and jostling of the vehicle alerted Tom they were most likely in a chopper, and he spent most of his time daydreaming and plotting an escape plan.
At some point they must've landed, because Tom was ushered out in a hurry.
Wherever they were is far windier than the base, and Tom could detect a hint of salt in the air. Were they near the coast perhaps?
His wrists were untied and the blindfold removed. Tom's eyes widened when he found himself upon the deck of a ship, already in motion across the sea and no dry land in sight. Tom gasped and he moved closer to the edge, leaning on the railing to look out over the ocean.
He'd always held an affinity for the sea, though his trips to the coast in the past were far in between. He liked sailing, surfing, fishing, and diving; and standing here now he only lamented the loss of his freedom even more.
"It's beautiful, no?"
Tom stiffened. The last person he ever wished to see was standing beside him to his right watching the scenery with him. The fact he managed to pop out from seemingly nowhere without making any noise at all was creepy.
Oddly enough, Tord didn't appear smug as Tom might've imagined. Tord was subdued, a deep frown on his face and he watched the ocean; hair buffeting in the wind. Even though he just spoke to him, Tord seems to be avoiding eye contact as well. In fact, he didn't look like a great military leader at all! He looked weary, and bashful. Tom didn't think he'd ever seen Tord appear so uncomfortable before, and the man likes Hentai for fucks sake!
Tord hesitated. "I figured you would appreciate a nice change of scenery. I seem to remember you taking a liking to the ocean in particular." He murmured. "The fresh air and sunshine don't hurt either."
Tom remained silent, awkwardly shifting his feet and debating whether to turn around and leave the Commie to talk to himself. But he had to admit that it did feel nice to be out here; even if it still is a Red Army vessel.
"I, uh, apologize for my previous treatment of you." Tord said after a while, surprising Tom further. "I concede I may have gone slightly overboard with you."
I could've died you prick! There was nothing slightly about it! Tom inwardly fumed, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he fought to keep his anger in check and not explode on the Commie; lest he wanted another round of torture.
"If this is your way of making small talk, then I suggest you quit it." Tom said flatly. "You're quite bad at it."
Tord snorted with amusement. "I suppose there's no hiding anything from you, eh? I like that about you."
What's that supposed to mean? Tom narrowed his eyes. Tord's behavior towards him was growing stranger with every interaction, and Tom couldn't quite place it. The best guess Tom could make at this time was that Tord was trying to manipulate him by appealing to his pride in order to have him fully obedient. But even then… that doesn't exactly explain the weird moments of, dare he say, affection from Tord.
Turning to face him, Tord grabbed one of his hands and stared at him imploringly. "I'd like to make it up to you, if you'll allow me." He said. "Let's have dinner tonight. Just you and I. What do you say?"
Tom's eyes widened and he wanted to retreat a couple of steps away from him, but sadly his hand was still secured in Tord's grip. Does he even have a choice in the matter? He asked him a question, and yet Tom sensed he was in no position to object.
"O-okay?" Tom cringed away. "I guess?"
"Splendid!" Tord smiled faintly, hands pressed together. "I'll deal with the arrangements myself. For now… I suppose I better leave you to admire the scenery by yourself. Enjoy!"
Acquiring what he wanted, Tord sauntered away, chin held high as he relished the sea breeze. Tom watched him leave with a sense of growing dread, and he turned back to look out over the railing. "Fuck… what have I gotten myself into now?
Later that evening, Patrick came by his new room aboard the ship to help him with the preparations for tonight's dinner.
If it were up to Tom he wouldn't have bothered showering, he'd arrive late, and he would wear his comfortable hoodie and even go barefoot for good measure. But since he is a prisoner here and has absolutely no choice in the matter, that wish unfortunately did not come true.
Patrick quickly ushered him to the bathroom for a shower. "You best hurry now and look presentable," he said urgently, glancing down at his watch. "I am not above bathing you myself if necessary if you do decide to be difficult."
"Okay, okay!" Tom appeased Patrick, palms out. "There's no need for that. Geez! I know how to take a shower by myself."
With that said, Tom will put in the least amount of effort when showering. He's not going to give Tord the satisfaction of looking his best for tonight's dinner.
Doing the bare minimum to get himself clean, Tom stepped out of the shower to dry himself. Upon exiting the bathroom he paused. "Patrick," He said. "What… Is that?"
The general was holding up a fancy getup in his arms, just waiting for Tom to arrive to present the clothes to him. "Red Leader requested that you wear this outfit to tonight's dinner."
"Nu-huh! No way!" Tom stepped back, shaking his head. "I am not wearing that!"
Patrick smiled. "Red Leader predicted you may react this way," He murmured. "And he said you're welcome to attend dinner in the nude if you'd rather."
"On second thought, maybe these clothes aren't so bad."
Tom tried his best to dress up on his own, but in the end the new outfit was so complicated he needed Patrick's help to get himself situated. The dinner attire consisted of a midnight blue tunic with six linked silver buttons down the chest, white pants, black boots, a white bouffant shirt underneath the tunic which made itself visible at the end of each arm sleeve and his chest where a frill was displayed, as well as a long cape that was blue on the outside and a crimson red with a faint pattern of stars shimmering on the inside.
Looking himself in the mirror as Patrick worked on combing his unruly hair, Tom frowned in distaste. This outfit was nothing like him. He looked like a first class prick! Or nobility of some kind. It was… too much, to say the least.
"There! All done!" Patrick stepped back to admire his work.
He'd applied some hair gel to tame Tom's wild, unkempt hair and make him look presentable. He even took the liberty of applying some makeup to Tom's face. Nothing major. A little bit of eyeliner to really accentuate those peculiar eyes of his, some mascara, and a tiny bit of blush.
"You're ready, and right as scheduled!" Pat glanced down at his watch before tying Tom's wrists with silk ropes. "Let's get you down for dinner now. No doubt Red Leader is already waiting for you."
He put a bag over Tom's head instead of the usual blindfold to preserve the makeup, and began to lead him out of the bedroom, speaking to him from time to time to warn him of their surroundings.
With every step taken, Tom's heartbeat grew gradually louder in his ears. His lips were dry and his throat felt parched. Nothing about this situation was okay. He briefly entertained the thought of resisting and just being a stubborn mule about this, embarrass Patrick in front of Commie. However, Tom wanted answers above all else. As unpleasant as these circumstances are, Tom knew if he wanted a chance of stopping Tord and escaping he needed to know what his plans are, and most importantly, the reason for him being here.
So for now he'll endure whatever Tord throws at him. When the time comes, he will make him pay.
Pat told him to stop and he heard the sound of a door being opened. Tom was ushered inside as he listened attentively for his surroundings.
"Ah! There you are!" He recognized Tord's voice straight away, clearly elated. "Have him sit right next to me, if you please."
Oh great! Tom rolled his eyes underneath the sack. And here he hoped he would get to sit across from Tord, several feet apart from each other. He doesn't get even that luxury around here!
Tom was carefully maneuvered around the room until he was forced to sit down.
"No no no." Tord spoke up again, tutting. "Have him sit to my left so I can see him!"
Once more, Tom was guided into standing up and walking a couple of steps forward until he sat down on his proper seat again. With a quick muttered apology from Patrick, the sack over his head was finally removed.
Tom blinked. He found himself in a candle-lit grand hall with a long cream table with intricate golden designs in front of him, tons of chairs lining the sides, a golden chandelier hanging above them, and red and blue banners adorning the walls. So I was right! I could've totally sat on the other side and far away from Commie!
Speaking of which, Tom looked to his side only to stiffen as he came face to face with Tord, who had been watching him intently and in complete silence, a wide grin on his face. Unsettling, to say the least.
"Ah, Tom!" Tord exclaimed, eye gleaming. "You look positively dashing! I knew I could count on my tailors to make something suitable for you."
"Thanks?"
"I hope you're hungry. Tonight's dinner is bound to be a special one!"
With a snap of his fingers, two soldiers came bustling out of the large double doors in the back carrying silver trays. They served the appetizers and drinks and left without speaking a word to either of them.
The appetizer was carpaccio, but that's not what Tom was focused on at the moment. While he'd been served a glass of a dark liquid that upon tasting turned out to be cranberry juice, Tord outright received a glass of wine.
"Hey, how come I get the juice and you get the alcohol?" Tom demanded.
"In case you've forgotten, you are under a strict diet to fix your damaged liver caused by the overall excess of alcohol in your system." Tord reminded, taking a sip of his wine. "No alcohol for you, I'm afraid."
Tom frowned. "Give me a break, Commie. For once. It's been a hard week, and I could really use a glass of wine to make sense of things right now." He hesitated. "Please."
Humming pensively, Tord mulled over his words. "Well, thank you for being polite about it. However I cannot in safe coincidence give you a glass of wine of your own. Who's to say you won't abuse the privilege?"
"Alright, fine! Never mind then-"
"However, let it be known that I am not an unreasonable man. I am willing to compromise." Tord went on. He then took another sip of his wine before offering the glass to Tom. "If you want alcohol, then perhaps we can share this time around. A sip is all you're getting."
Tom looked at him in alarm, and then glanced down at the glass. He really wanted a taste of alcohol again. It's been two weeks and he hasn't had a drop of anything in his system, and to endure the situation he was in it was a must. But… to drink from the same glass as the Commie? No. Tom wasn't that desperate.
"Hard pass." Tom wrinkled his nose in distaste and drank his juice, trying to pretend it was a different kind of wine of the sweeter variety.
"As you wish." Tord shrugged, not offended by his refusal.
The remainder of the appetizer went by in silence. The soldiers came by to take away their plates and replaced it with the main course. Venison, with leek risotto, and an assortment of boiled vegetables.
Tom hesitated, taking a small bite out of the meat. An explosion of flavors sprang forth in his mouth and Tom had to hold back a sigh of delight. He'd never had venison before. Tom was more of a cheap cheeseburger and fries kind of guy, but he couldn't deny the excellency of the meal. However, he won't be admitting that to the Commie's face any time soon.
He slowly cut another piece on his plate and a good amount of risotto on his fork.
"You don't have to eat so slowly, you know." Tord chuckled, observing him intently. "You must be hungry. Enjoy! I had it made specially for us."
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Tom continued eating. "Where are we going?"
"The Danish coast." Tord replied. "We have business matters to settle there."
"What kind of business?"
Tord smirked. "Personal affairs." He leaned closer.
Tom gulped, moving to take a sip of his drink. "So not actually Red Army related?"
"That's one way of looking at it."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Tom asked through a mouthful of food.
"Slow down. You're eating too fast. And don't speak with your mouth full." Tord admonished, shaking his head.
Tom glared at him. First he is scolded for eating too slow, and now he gets scolded for eating too fast. What's this guy's deal anyway? He opened his mouth for an angry retort, but his ire vanished like mist when Tord started dabbing his mouth and cheeks with a napkin.
"If you keep eating like that you're going to get indigestion or acid reflux." Tord tutted softly, his touch lingering a little too long on Tom's bottom lip. "And I'd hate for that to happen."
Confused, Tom leaned away and pushed the robotic hand away from his face. His face flushed. What the hell?
Tsking in mild disapproval, Tord resumed his meal. Tom didn't know what to do. Tord's behavior was getting stranger by the minute and he didn't know what to make of it. Should he confront him? That's what he wants to do, but he feared Tord's cryptic answers. Patrick said Tord would have all the answers he needed, and that he can trust him with his questions. But how can he when Tord is being so… Polarizing?
A sudden touch on his foot made Tom snap out of his thoughts.
He stiffened, dread pooling his stomach, feeling the slow gradual drag of a shoe against his foot, climbing higher upon his ankle.
Twitching, Tom dared not to look at Tord and give him the satisfaction of acknowledging what was going on below the table. The fucker is playing footsie with me?
His appetite gone, Tom tried to ignore the assault on his foot and focus on piecing the puzzle pieces of this mystery together. What is Tord after? What does he want with him? And why was Tord acting so weird towards him?
Tord has always been a prick. He liked to deceive people with his charm only to watch them crumble when faced with his true colors. But Tom knew from the start that he was bad news. They have never been exactly friendly with each other in the past; always bickering and fighting instead despite Edd's best efforts to make them compromise. Tord could be doing this to make him uncomfortable. It was working, but Tom doubts Tord would waste his time planning revenge only to end up mildly annoying him.
No. Tord wants something from him. For two years he went into hiding and planned a way to get to him. For revenge? No, because Tord went out of his way to give Tom a job in the army as his personal assistant. So he definitely wants him around. If it was just for the sake of making him pay Tord could have shot him back at the pub and be done with him; or plan an extra thrilling public execution for him and his friends. But none of that happened.
Then Tom thought about his mannerisms. His words. His gestures. They were all… Fond. Affectionate, maybe? But… that can't be. Why, if Tord is behaving this way towards Tom for real, then that would mean that Tord-
"Has anyone ever told you how pretty your eyes are?" Tord leaned closer, warm breath fanning over his face. Tom's breath quickened when the robotic hand gripped his thighs. "You're so handsome and charming. Anyone would be deemed lucky to have someone like you as their paramour."
Ripping himself away from Tord's grasp, Tom stared at him incredulously. "You're sexually attracted to me, aren't you?" He blurted, wide eyed.
For several seconds, neither of them moved. Tom hoped with every fiber of his being that Tord would throw back his head and laugh at the accusation. Call him "classic stupid Tom" before breaking down all the reasons he hated him.
However, much to his chagrin, Tord simply smiled with a half-lidded eye and leaned on the table with his arm. "Oh, Thomas," He cooed. "I am attracted to you in every way imaginable. Thank you for noticing at last."
Pushing away from the table, Tom scrambled to his feet. Panic rushing him. "W-what?"
"I was wondering how long it would take you to figure out, and debating whether or not to tell you upfront myself. Thankfully you are smarter than my soldiers gave you credit for! I knew you would not disappoint me." Tord said, delighted. His eye tracking Tom's movements.
"H-how long-?" Tom stammered.
"Have I bore feelings for you? Since two years ago, when you knocked me out on my giant robot." Tord replied. "I couldn't get you out of my head since. I knew I had to have you for myself."
"What?" Tom rasped. He couldn't believe his ears. This can't be happening! We're supposed to hate each other.
"Now that you know the truth, I suppose I can let you in on what happens next." Tord grinned, taking a sip of his wine. "Over the next few months I plan to court you before our fateful wedding next Winter. Now whether or not you reciprocate my feelings does not matter - the wedding will happen regardless, though I desire the former outcome personally. And you will lead the Red Army by my side as my co-leader, and we will rule the world together as husbands."
Tom steeled his expression, fury surging through him. Whatever happens, this fate must never happen. "You will never have me!" He shook his head, baring his teeth.
"We'll see about that!" Tord narrowed his eye, standing up abruptly.
RUN!
Without thinking, Tom rushed forward and threw a plate of half eaten food at Tord. Not looking back to see the damage he done, Tom raced out of the grand dining hall through the double doors in the front. The soldiers standing guard on either side of the door froze in alarm as he rushed past them.
"DON'T JUST STAND THERE!" He heard Tord's shrill voice behind him. "GRAB HIM, YOU IDIOTS!"
Fast footfalls began to chase him down the ship's hallways and Tom put on an extra burst of speed as he reached the deck of the ship. Soldiers started converging on his location when Tom snapped his gaze toward the railing.
Tom made a run for it.
Dropping into the ocean from this height will most likely kill him. If he lives, he will be stranded in the ocean to drown. And if he is fortunate, he might get sucked into the propellers and chopped into a human flotsam. It will be painful, but miserably short and fast, and a thousand times better than the fate Tord has in store for him.
His eyes zeroed in on the railing and Tom dived overboard, jumping off the ship.
The ocean loomed closer until he felt something wrap around his waist and torso, coiling round his midsection like a striking python, stopping his fall, and pulling him away from the open blue depths. "No!" Tom cried out as he was brought back to the side of the ship by the robotic arm.
"Ballzy move, Tom. Did you really think you could get away from me?" Tord whispered in his ear as he was brought up against his chest. He caressed the side of his face. "Hm, but then again I always kinda liked that about you." He sighed lovingly, nuzzling into Tom as he avidly struggled against him.
"Sir, would you like us to put the prisoner on the brig?"
Tord glared at the soldier who offered such a stupid suggestion. "No need." He pulled Tom back over the railing and settled him on the ground, keeping his robotic arm wound tight around him. He cleared his throat, turning to address the soldiers standing around on the deck. "Pre-wedding jitters, everyone! Nothing to concern yourselves with. My… fiancé," Tord shivered with delight, the official term openly leaving his lips tasted sweeter than any wine he'd ever drank. He pinched Tom's cheek with his biological hand. "He just had a bout of cold feet, is all ha ha. Of course news of our engagement would be shocking to anyone, but we'll get through this." Murmurs of congratulations rose from the crowd and even a few of them clapped to celebrate. "Now if you'll excuse me, I will see my betrothed off to bed."
Half dragging, half carrying Tom across the ship, Tord brought him back to his quarters; finally releasing him from his grasp.
The moment he was free, Tom ripped himself away from Tord and glared at him in defiance. A small glimmer of satisfaction rose from within him when he noticed the sauce dripping off the sides of Tord's face, his uniform smudged with food bits, and even a piece of broccoli stuck in his horned hair. But the pleasure was short lived.
"Don't run away from me again." Tord warned.
"I'll do what I like!" Tom hissed. "Like hell am I marrying you! You're fucking nuts if you think I'm going along with this crazy scheme of yours!"
"Watch your language!" Tord admonished. "As your future husband I deserve your respect, love me or not."
"Are you serious?" Tom asked incredulously. "I will never love you! This whole thing is demented! Let me go, you bastard!"
Tord exhaled. "I think tempers are flaring up and we need a break before something… unfortunate happens." He drawled. "I'll leave you to rest now, and think about our future together. I need you to accompany me ashore tomorrow."
"Are you listening to me? I am not marrying you!"
"You say that now, but you'll change your mind eventually. Give it time. I can be so good for you once you get to know me" Tord said, moving towards the door. "Good-night." He glanced back at him one final time before leaving, quietly shutting the door behind him following the click of the lock.
Tom began to shake uncontrollably, his fists trembling at his side as he rushed forward to beat down the door. "I hate you! Do you hear me? I know you can hear me out there. I fucking despise you with every fiber of my being! Nothing you can do will ever change that!"
Tord could most definitely hear him, however his words weren't having the effect he knew he wanted them to have. No, if it were possible, Tord loved him with even more passion than he had before.
It will take some time and patience to tame him, but Tord knew only the trickiest challenges offered the most valuable prizes; and Tom was quite the prize to have.
I have to be strong! He can't win this. I won't let him win! Tom closed his eyes briefly, panting. Turning around he caught his reflection on the mirror. He looked like a mess, his makeup smudged; but that was the least of his problems. He's not going to get away with this. I don't belong to him! I will find a way out of here, save Matt and Edd, and I'll make Tord pay!